


Snack

by hellhoundsprey



Series: spn kink bingo 2021 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autofellatio, Barebacking, Bottom Sam Winchester, Demon Blood, Drugged Sex, Gang Rape, Knotting, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Sam gets overpowered by a pack of werewolves. Fortunately/unfortunately for him, said werewolves never learned not to play with their food. (Set between s3 and s4.)2021 kink bingo square 04: autofellatio
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Other(s)
Series: spn kink bingo 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122431
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Snack

Somewhere below the pain and the stench and the dust, below the roar of too many voices, Sam’s gut keeps babbling: see, I told you this was a bad fucking idea.

Someone (a bunch of them?) grab the back of his knees and push, and he’s flexible but not like _that_ ; there’s goading laughter and too-close to his ear there’s, “Open that pretty mouth, come on,” and Sam does, because it won’t make a difference.

His lower back complains but it doesn’t hurt (nothing has for a while now). A faint alert that something is _wrong_ but Sam can’t put his finger on _what_ exactly. Someone cups his forehead, drags at the wrinkles of his squeezed-shut eyes.

“We all saw you know how to do it, Winchester, so _suck_.”

He gags; someone curls him even deeper—his own cock crowds against his tongue and he swallows, struggles. The taste is off and the sensation is just—it’s—but he does: hollow his cheeks and he does: suck on it. Cajoling around him, more hands on his face—his eyes tear up, stupid. More gag reflex than anything else.

“There you go,” one of them croons, and yet someone else spits on his upturned ass. He blinks up just to watch how someone pushes their thumb up his ass, and that burns, _bad_ , and he struggles again. Fails again—against them holding him down, the two pairs of handcuffs linking him to the radiator.

The thumb sinks all the way to the heel of that hand and Sam splutters, bucks. His cock slips out of his mouth, smears against his cheek, his chin. Someone threads it back in, pinches his nose shut so he keeps it, tells him to _suck_ again, “Looking fine, hunter,” and someone else snarls, “Good bitch,” and Sam groans deep and strangled for that insane push right after a zipper coming down, close.

His mind reels, a flurry of—everything.

Emotions and memories and images; Ruby’s voice, the scent of her skin, the aftertaste of her blood. Dean’s always-overdue shirts, Dad’s jacket, the car seats—

“Stop tearing him up, goddammit; you’re not alone in here!”

“We still need him.”

Cold and wet and—again, breaking him open, all over. Sam grunts, tries to buck them off, get them out. Claws to the back of his thighs for that, a growl and the imperative bump of the pack leader’s balls over his tailbone, and—Jesus, it—they’ll kill him like this. Use him up and throw him out into the curb once they’ve had their fill. Sam stirs, caught. The werewolf on top of him churns himself so deep Sam swears he can feel them in his fucking stomach, gets his own cock knocked far into the back of his own throat. More laughter when he makes a noise for that first full, bone-jarring thrust, feral and animal and no mercy.

They pull him back and open further. His arms strain, extended long and firm over-behind his head; he’s still in his overshirt, his tee. Half a sock—someone plucks that off, too, grabs his ankle and praises, “That’s it,” and Sam’s cock pops out of his mouth again but they don’t make him swallow it back down, this time.

Low, hungry growls. A constant vibration—up Sam’s spine, in his blood.

Sam chokes under the thrusts, the weight of them coming down on his compressed ribcage. They tip his head back over the end of the table and he fights _that_. Claws dig into his chin and his jaw and they tell him to hold still and _remember: we won’t bite if you don’t_ , and there’s that violent push again into the back of his throat, just like they did earlier. They refill his throat in one steady push and he has nowhere to go, can’t even swallow or breathe and the wolf on top of him keeps pumping into him just as cruel, just as frantic.

“Oh, that’s _good_.”

“Pretty bitch.”

“Tight, too.”

Stray laughter; the rush of his own blood, the gurgled mess of his throat. They pump into him on both ends, off-beat and mean. Larger than Sam assumes a human should be, stretching him out—the one in his ass keeps going non-stop, a sheer chase of their own pleasure. Sam’s cock thrums heavy with the trapped blood, the too-tight cock ring they wrangled on him after teasing him to somewhat full mast, somehow. The blood, Sam thinks. Ruby’s blood, all of it.

“Fuck, you think we can keep him, boss?” but there’s no reply except for a snarl; someone pushes his shirt up Sam’s torso to reveal the clench of his abs, the burning claw-marks.

Someone else agrees, “Would make a good pet, this one,”

but Sam can’t think beyond the rush of panic that takes him over when the wolf’s cock hammering into his ass starts swelling, enlarging even further—nearly pulls him inside-out before it does, once, and Sam nearly comes off the table but they hold him down, cheer on while their leader locks them together for good.

Low, deep grinds because there’s no way they can keep thrusting in and out like that and a low-snarled, “Fuck, yeah,” and Sam chokes on the one pumping down his throat because someone gets a hand on his dick and strokes him in tune with the one riding his ass.

He’s let up for air only to embarrass himself with the noises he makes; coughed-up and slime and rattled breath, teeth-deep grunts because oh God they’re coming _a lot_ , it’s too large and too much and the odd pressure of it mixes wickedly with the stimulation on his dick. Sam groans but they wrench him back, tip his head aside so they can fuck his face again, churn into him tip-to-base and bury his nose in their pubes, make him take it.

That hand lets go of Sam’s dick and he nearly wishes it back—especially when the wolf on top of him stirs and attempts to detach himself. Too early, still enlarged, but Sam is too confined to make much of an impact. No say, not in any of this.

The wolf’s cock finally pops free with an immediate gush of their come. Sam’s body struggles to close back up, but fails.

They keep him on his back, his knees to his shoulders—available.

“Opened him up for you boys. You’re welcome.”


End file.
